As Hargorn called a young woman who was wiping tables in a corner to come and take his place, Jarvas remembered why he had come here, and realized that he was about to lose his chance of speaking to the landlord. “Ho, Hargorn. Wait!” he shouted, rushing up to the counter. Hargorn, already vanishing into the back room, still with his arm around Hebba, half-turned with an impatient sigh. “Not now, Jarvas. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“But...”
“Not now, I said. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait. Look, get Sallana to give you a drink, and Hebba will fetch you some breakfast. I’ll be back in a little while, I promise.”
“Plague take it, will you just listen for a minute. Grince has stolen Lord Pendral’s jewel collection and the guards are combing the city for him right now!”
Though the veteran’s grin faded a little, he looked completely unsurprised.
“Well, Jarvas, the way the daft beggar was acting, it was inevitable that something like this would happen sooner or later.”
“Curse you—is that all you can say? It was bound to happen sooner or later?”
Jarvas demanded angrily.
The grin returned to Hargorn’s face. “What I can say and what I can do are two different things. Stop scowling like that, man—your face is ugly enough without making it worse. Keep your mouth shut and come with me.”
Hargorn ushered Jarvas down a short corridor and into a cozy sitting room with comfortable, padded chairs and a bright fire crackling in the hearth. As Jarvas entered the room a tall figure pushed him aside, almost knocking him off his feet, and hurtled past him through the doorway to envelop the landlord in an enormous hug. He was even more surprised when Hargorn, who never stood for any trouble in his tavern, did not throw his assailant off the premises.—Then he noticed that the tall figure was a woman in warrior’s garb. And Hargorn—not usually known to his customers as an emotional, man—was hugging her and laughing and crying all at once.
“Gods, lass, but you’re a sight for sore eyes—I never thought I’d live to see this day! And Anvar too! You know, I had a wager of fifty silver pieces with Parric that you’d come back to us!” As he mentioned the Cavalrymaster, the joy in Hargorn’s face dimmed for a moment, and Aurian had not missed the way he had raked the room with his eyes on entering—in the hope, she suspected, of seeing Maya. But now Hargorn was pulling her toward the fire, without, as yet, giving her a chance to speak. “You look terrible, Aurian—terrible weary, I mean. Here—come and sit down, lovey. Rest before I start on you with all my questions. Let me get you some beer.”
Aurian didn’t protest as Hargorn led her to one of the deep chairs by the hearth. She stretched out her legs before the blaze, and closed her eyes. When her old friend thrust a deep, brimming tankard of ale into her hands, she felt as though she had just sailed through a hurricane and battled her way to a peaceful shore at last.
It was thanks to Grince that they had managed to get here at all. With Finbarr still confused and disoriented, and both the Mage and Forral suffering in their different ways from Aurian’s attack on the soldiers, the thief had taken charge. He had brought them out of the Academy and into the city, using the sewers as far as they were passable, and then using one of his own secret routes via little-used tunnels and byways, taking occasional shortcuts through backyards and derelict houses. Shia and Khanu had accompanied their human friends by a tortuous but less conspicuous route over rooftops and along the tops of walls. After the precipitous slopes of Steelclaw, they found human structures little challenge to their climbing prowess. Without drawing attention to themselves, the companions had approached the Unicorn through the alleyway at the rear, and entered at the back door, practically terrifying Hebba out of her wits.
Aurian took a deep swig of Hargorn’s excellent ale. On the other side of the room she could hear Grince greeting the ugly man who had come in search of him, and Forral trying to convince his old friend that despite appearances, he was truly not Anvar. The Mage was content to leave them to it and snatch a few blessed moments of peace, for she was weary indeed, and racked by guilt over her use of magic to slay Pendral’s soldiers. The act of violence had contravened everything she had been brought up to believe—and worse, it was the action of a Miathan or an Eliseth, but not herself. Yet this was not the first time she had used her magic to kill a helpless Mortal—well she remembered her voyage to the South, and her slaying of the men who had tried to slaughter the Leviathan. Yet it could not be helped, either this time or the last.
Aurian knew, however, that there would be a penalty to pay. A prickle of unease ran through her. Last time, on the ship, she had given her position away to Miathan and he had sent his storm with devastating effect. What would happen this time, she didn’t dare imagine. She could only wait and worry—and pray that those she loved would not be the ones to suffer for her deed.—Out of the whole sorry business, it was Forral’s attitude that caused Aurian most distress. You’d think that as a soldier he, of all people, would have understood the necessity, the Mage thought bitterly. What gives him the right to judge?
“He has never seen you wield such power.” The voice that entered Aurian’s thoughts belonged to Shia. “You tended to keep your magic apart from your life with him—except once. . . .” The cat sounded puzzled. “He’s remembering something about you and rain—and for some reason he was angry with you then, too. But he is angry with himself more than with you, because while he knows in his heart that you did what you must, your power makes him afraid.” The cat laid back her ears in disgust. “Humans! If I live to be older than Hreeza I’ll never understand them.”
“Just a minute,” Aurian looked at the great cat. “Shia, how do you know all this?”
Shia would not meet her eyes. “How do you think?” she said at last. “That man has stolen Anvar’s body—the physical form of a Mage. It still possesses Anvar’s powers—including the means to communicate with me. The fool has no idea of his new abilities, though—he doesn’t know how to shield his thoughts.—I’m surprised you haven’t heard them yourself....”
“What?” Aurian interrupted. “You’ve been eavesdropping?”
“Yes I have, and I don’t intend to stop, either,” said Shia unrepentantly. “I don’t trust him, Aurian—you might, but I do not.”
The Mage looked deep into the golden eyes of her friend, and knew it would be pointless to argue. Besides, who could say that Shia was not right?
“Aurian, where is Maya?” Hargorn’s voice interrupted her train of thought.—She looked across the room at the old warrior’s anxious face. “She came through the transition safe and well, but then the Phaerie took her and D’arvan—shortly after we returned to the world.” Aurian knew there was no point in hiding, or even trying to soften the truth.
Hargorn swallowed hard. “I’m going after her,” he said flatly. “First Parric and Vannor, and now Maya—I’m going to find the lair of those Phaerie vermin if it’s the last thing I do. Even if I fail, at least I’ll still be with my friends.”
The Mage laid a hand on his arm. “There’ll be time for that,” she said softly.
“The Lord of the Phaerie won’t harm D’arvan, and he’ll make sure that Maya is safe. If they don’t come back soon, I’ll be heading up there myself.” She scowled. “I have a thing or two to say to the Forest Lord.”